


The Clockwork Physician

by Celestial_Cafe



Category: Doctor Who, The Infernal Devices
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_Cafe/pseuds/Celestial_Cafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An odd gentleman with a strange blue box visits the London institute, and things get even more confusing than they were before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clockwork Physician

   The great, vibrating sound of the doorbell resonated though the institute, and the breakfast company halted, glancing at each other questioningly. Henry, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, turned to his wife. "Are we expecting anyone, Charlotte?" he asked, as the eggs slid off of his fork and into his teacup. Charlotte eyed the teacup sympathetically as she responded.

"Not that I know of,” she sighed, "but some of our _friends_ have become fond of surprise visits. If it's the Enclave, I should probably go meet them..."

"Absolutely not!" Henry demanded, startling everyone at the table. Even Gabriel looked surprised at Henry's sudden outburst. "You have little Buford to care for. Eat. Cyril can handle the Enclave. Oh, Sophie!" Henry caught sight of Sophie when she appeared to replace his teacup, which he was dangerously close to taking a sip from. "Fetch Cyril, will you?"

Sophie vanished with a nod, as a small smile forced its way onto Charlotte's lips.

"Henry," she said, sounding exasperated but in good spirits, "how many times do I have to tell you, I'm not naming any child of mine 'Buford'?"

* * *

 

                Cyril hauled the heavy door of the institute open, and found an oddly-dressed man waiting on the steps, looking rather distracted. "Can I... help you, sir?" He asked warily. In this world of Glamours and runes, Cyril wasn’t often taken off guard by strange-looking characters. This man, however, was an exception. Cyril was completely mystified. The man was clearly not a Shadowhunter, because of the lack of Marks, but neither was he Downworlder, despite the odd air about him. Whatever the case, the man had no business being at the Institute.

"Yes, you can, actually," the man replied, scratching his ear. "I saw your perception filter and thought this would probably be the best place to start. Nice job on that by the way." The man stepped back and examined the institute from foundation to spire. "However did you manage it? I've already scanned, there's nothing alien in there. Well, unless you count... the..." he trailed off when he saw Cyril's blank look. "I'm... rambling, aren't I?"

Cyril, thoroughly confused, thought back to the last part of the man's speech that he'd actually understood, and decided to take it from there. "Start what, sir?"

"Well, my search, of course!" The man exclaimed. "I'm looking for a man called the Magister. He... oh." The man paused, pressing his lips together. "He's probably got an alias now, hasn't he? Well, he's a short, sort of balding- no- hold on," The man squinted a bit. "He could have any face by now."

The man paced for a bit, the expression on his face nearly identical to that of Henry when he was trying to "fix" one of his disastrous inventions. Cyril was beginning to wonder if the man was having some sort of fit. Mundanes that were going mad had been known to see through Glamours before. Just when he was about to intervene, the man stopped pacing and looked up, a cheery grin on his face. "Ah, well. Clearly I didn't think this through. I'm not even supposed to be here," he said. "Sorry to bother you. Guess I'll start somewhere else then. Ta!"

The man turned to leave, leaping down the stairs two at a time as his coat billowed out behind him. Then, Cyril finally found his voice.

"Sir!" He called, dashing down the stairs after him. "Wait, sir!" The man turned back just as he reached the gate, and Cyril stumbled to a stop before him. "Sorry," he panted, "but did you just say the Magister?"

The man's eyebrows shot up so high, Cyril thought they were likely to jump right off his face. "Well, yes. You know him?"

Cyril jabbed his thumb towards the institute. "I- um, they... uh," he stammered, "Y-you should probably come inside."


End file.
